


Tumblr Fic!

by BenjisCoolTimes



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenjisCoolTimes/pseuds/BenjisCoolTimes
Summary: Just a place for all prompts/ drabbles taken from my tumblr. Feel free to prompt me @benjis-cool-times :D





	1. I Just Want a Hug

**Author's Note:**

> This is from my Soul verse. You should read that first!

Ever since Ben broke up with Leslie, he felt like all the lights in the world had been dimmed down. She was like the sun, the driving source of light and heat that the whole world revolved around, and now everything was perpetually dark without her. 

Maybe that was why he let her drag him to an old, decrepit gas station that quite frankly, looked like the sort of place somebody might be possessed. He watched her pace back and forth, practically able to see the gears of her brain turning, trying to rack up some sort of excuse for why she brought him here, for why he just had to see this place. 

“This gas station was owned by…Mick Jagger,” she said finally, turning to look up at him with pleading eyes, like she already knew he wouldn't buy her story, but she had to tell it anyways. 

“Leslie…” 

“Yeah, I was going through some financial records for book research and I came across…” 

“Leslie, I know what you’re doing,” Ben said, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at the pavement, unable to look at her any longer. It was almost like she wasn't as upset about all of this as he was, like it didn’t make it harder on her when they hung out alone. All she seemed to care about was being his friend, and how could she want that, when all he wanted was to do was hold her and kiss her until she forgot her own name? 

It suddenly occurred to him that maybe he never meant as much to her as she meant to him. The very thought was enough to make his heart shatter, but on the outside he remained stoic, telling himself over and over again that he could break down once he got home, just not in front of her.  

“I’m just trying to share some rock and roll history with you, Ben. I don't see what the problem is.” 

“No Leslie, you’re-” he started to say, but for the first time in his life words actually failed him. He took a deep breath, and his voice came out quieter this time, wobblier. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Do what?” she asked, but Ben knew that she already knew the answer to that question. 

“I think I loved you,” he said, not really in any sort of control over what he was saying. The sentence poured from his lips before he could stop it, and Leslie looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “And I think I still do, so I can’t do this anymore. Because whenever I’m with you, I’m just reminded of what I lost, of how I can’t have you.” 

“Ben I…”

“Please don't say anything,” he whispered. He kicked at an innocent pebble resting in front of his shoe, and he watched it roll the short distance between them, stopping at Leslie’s feet. She stared down at it, tears now falling down her cheeks. 

“I loved y-”

“Don’t say it. It’ll just make everything harder,” Ben pleaded. She stepped towards him, and he took a step away.

“I just want a hug. I need it,” she said, and her voice was garbled over the sounds of her crying. “Please.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, turning to walk away and leaving her alone underneath the flickering light of the gas station. 

It was then that Ben realized there was nothing keeping the sun warm, and his heart fell once more because he suddenly knew Leslie was just as lost as he was, in just as much pain and just as unsure of what to do now. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, even though he knew he was too far away for her to hear now. “I’m so sorry.” 


	2. Hate at First Sight

“Goddamnit!” Ben yelled to no one in particular, slamming the door of his motel room behind him, and pounding a fist into the nearby wall. “Who the fuck does she think she is?!” 

He threw his padfolio down on the bed with such vigor that it bounced off the sheets and onto the floor, where he kicked it into the furnace. The loud clang that it made when it came into contact with the metal was oddly satisfying, and Ben was finally able to take a deep breath and calm down.

He wasn't even sure why he was so mad. He’d been doing this for years now, going from town to town, and no one was able to get under his skin quite like Leslie Knope had. 

He could still picture her nose scrunching up in anger as she looked defiantly up at him, throwing retort after retort back at him in response to his questions. Didn’t she fucking realize that he was trying to _help_ her town, not burn it to the ground? Jesus, why did everyone make him out to be such a monster?

Why did _she_ make him out to be such a monster?

He was interrupted from his own thoughts as his phone rang from inside his pocket, and he pulled it out angrily, pressing the answer button so viciously that he was almost surprised his finger didn’t drill a small hole through the screen. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Woah,” his brother answered. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” 

Ben sighed and straightened his posture, as if that alone would calm him down. “No, I’m sorry. I just had a bad day.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry asked.

And, so Ben told Henry everything, told him about Leslie and her vibrant blonde hair and infuriating passion, about how she’d told him that City Hall had _feelings,_ and how she flat out refused to give him any information that might be helpful at all. He half-yelled everything that he was saying, and he could only imagine that his brother was holding his phone away from his ear because everything was so loud.  

“She’s impossible,” Ben concluded, rubbing at his temples. “I mean, who the hell does that?” 

There was a long pause, and Henry coughed uncomfortably. “Well, it sounds like it was just love at first sight,” he responded dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” Ben grumbled. “But I believe in _hate_ at first sight.” 

“How sweet. Can I be best man at your wedding?” Henry teased, and Ben snorted.

“If I _ever_ marry Leslie Knope, please check me into the nearest mental hospital.” 

Seriously, someone would have to be completely bonkers to marry her, Ben thought. Really, he almost felt bad for her future husband and everything that he’d have to put up with.

“Will do,” Henry laughed, and then, when Ben hung up a few minutes later, he fell onto his bed and dreamed of the day he’d finally be able to leave this nightmare of a town. 

Just three more months, he told himself. 

He could put up with Leslie Knope for just three more months. 

Right? 


	3. Can I kiss you?

Leslie looked up from her binder to find Rory playing in the sandpit with a girl not much younger than he was. She smiled at the sight, watching only for a moment as they scooped sand in their hands and let it drip through their fingers. Rory laughed, and Leslie’s heart surged just like it always did at the sound.

She looked back down at her notes, the smile slowly slipping from her face as she read over her speech. It was not coming out the way she wanted it to. 

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, erasing several lines angrily. A piece of hair fell out of her ponytail and in front of her eyes. 

“Everything alright?” a voice interrupted, and Leslie looked up again right as a man sank down onto the bench next to her. His hair stuck up in every direction, just as pleasantly brown as his eyes, and his lips stretched into a small smile.

“Oh! Yes, everything’s fine,” she said, offering a smile of her own. “Just some writer’s block.” 

“What are you writing?” he asked. His head titled just slightly to the side, providing the most wonderful view of his jaw.

That thing could cut glass. 

“A speech. I’m on City Council.” 

“Ah. We just moved here otherwise I’d have known that. I like to keep up with local politics,” he said.

“We?” It was Leslie’s turn to cock her head. 

“Me and my daughter Amelia.” He pointed to the little girl playing with Rory. “Is that your son?” 

“Yeah, that’s Rory.” Leslie found herself looking down at the man’s hands, and her heart did a weird little skip when she saw he had no ring. “I’m Leslie by the way. Leslie Knope.” 

“Ben,” he said, holding out his hand. “Ben Wyatt.”

The way he mimicked her was cute, and Leslie turned away before he could see her blush, but he too busy watching Rory and Amelia to even notice. 

“I like the name Rory,” he said after a moment. “You don't hear that one too often.” 

“He was named after his dad,” Leslie confessed. 

“I bet his dad’s a pretty special guy, then,” Ben said. “I don't think my ex would’ve ever named one of our children after me.” 

His tone was light and joking, but all Leslie could do was smile sadly.

“Yeah, his dad was special.”

“Was?” Ben’s eyebrow furrowed. 

“He died before Rory was born. Car accident.” 

Ben fell silent, just like everyone did when Leslie brought it up. No one ever knew what to say, and she didn't blame them. She doesn't think she’d know what to do in their shoes either.

“I’m…very sorry to hear that.” 

“It was a long time ago.” Leslie shrugged. A silence fell over them after that, though not an uncomfortable one. 

Rory and Amelia were now chasing each other around the sandpit, and both she and Ben laughed softly as they slipped. 

“Hey,” Leslie could hear Rory say as he pulled Amelia up. “Can I kiss you?” 

Amelia giggled and nodded. 

“Oh!” Ben said from beside her as Rory pressed his lips to Amelia’s and pulled away with a loud smack. Leslie’s mouth hung open and she had to cover it before she started laughing. 

I- I, um, was not expecting that,” Ben said, suddenly awkward. “Not- not that it was a bad thing. S-she’s five, but…” 

And this time Leslie did laugh.

Because as it turned out, the overprotective dad thing was really doing it for her.  

“Sorry,” Leslie said once she finally settled down. “Rory has been very curious about kissing lately.” 

“Yeah? Is his mom kissing a lot of people these days?”

“Nope,” Leslie said, popping the ‘p’. “She is not. Is Amelia’s father?”

“He is not,” Ben said with a smirk. “But he wouldn't mind changing that.”


	4. Meeting in the ER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this kinda quickly, so I apologize if it stinks. Please enjoy!!!

It isn't until Leslie actually takes off her ice skates that she trips. Of course. 

She’d been so afraid of falling this entire time, and never once did it occur to her that it would happen _after_ she left the skating rink. Admittedly, she’d clung onto the wall for dear life most of the time, so the chances of her slipping were…well, slim. And even when Anthony took her hands into his, and she was forced to part from safety, he was sure not to let her fall. 

But, now, she’s on her hands and knees, the wind completely knocked out of her. She struggles for breath, that loud cracking sound still resonating in her brain, and it isn't until Anthony rushes over that it even resisters. Her knee is broken. 

“Babe!” Anthony says, sounding aghast. “Are- are you okay?” 

Leslie just looks down at the pavement, transfixed by the blood trickling down her hands where she landed. She can't seem to push herself up, and every time she tries, a shooting pain makes its way down her leg. She has no momentum. 

“Um…can you call 911? Quickly?”

Anthony fishes his Blackberry out of his pocket, his face now paler than the snow that litters the ground. He walks away, and Leslie can hear him talking into the phone, but she doesn't really catch what he’s saying. Everything hurts, and she’s 60% sure that she’s dying. 

Well, maybe not _dying-_ dying. But dying. 

Anthony finally comes back, and he pats her back awkwardly. The motion is enough to jar her knee even further, and he quickly retrieves his hand upon her cry. 

“Sorry! Sorry -I…You know, I’m not really feeling this,” Anthony says, and Leslie looks up at him, searching his face frantically. “I think I’m gonna head out of here. The ambulance will be here shortly.” 

There’s nothing Leslie can do as he walks away. It isn't like she can chase after him like this.

“Wait!” she yells. “Should I call you?” 

He doesn't even turn around as he says no, and Leslie can feel her heart sink to her toes. 

A broken knee, and now a broken heart too. 

Oh brother. 

***

It only takes the ambulance ten minutes to get there, and Leslie is grateful for the EMTs who finally help her up from this embarrassing position. Her knee is on fire, and it’s only once she actually sees it that she feels nauseous. One of the EMTs hands her a pink basin, which Leslie holds onto like her life depends on it. 

“Broken knee!” someone yells when they get to the hospital twenty minutes later, and there’s a woman by her side in record time, asking for her name and some other information. Leslie tells her everything with tears streaming down her cheeks.

It’s dumb, but she wishes Anthony was here. 

“Ann,” she tells the nurse. “I need Ann Perkins. You know who she is right? Brown hair that’s as beautiful and silky as a unicorns mane? A perfect ethnic blend? Dazzling smile?” 

“Ann’s not working tonight, sweetie,” the nurse says, and Leslie’s heart falls. She doesn't have too much time to be upset about it though, because someone brings in an IV machine, and before she knows it, there’s a needle in her arm. 

“Ow!” she yells, moving to swat it away, but the nurse stops her. 

“It’s so we can give you pain medication.” 

Everything is happening so fast, and Leslie wishes everyone would just slow down.

Barely has the thought crossed her mind when someone new struts into the room, holding an aura of importance, and Leslie is almost certain that he’s the one who runs this show. He yells orders, and people rush to obey them, and suddenly, everything doesn't seem as chaotic. Everything has a purpose, everyone is doing a job, and this machine seems pretty well oiled in his presence. 

He’s her knight in shining armor. 

“Hello,” he finally addresses her. “I’m Dr. Wyatt. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was ice skating,” Leslie starts. She twists her hands together nervously. 

“Skating? So you fell on the ice?” He immediately begins scribbling on his clipboard, the veins in his hands straining beautifully. 

“Um, well, no, not exactly. I got off the ice and then I fell.” Leslie scrunches her face awkwardly, suddenly feeling like a bit of an idiot. 

“That’s ironic,” Dr. Wyatt deadpans. He doesn't laugh, but Leslie can't help but to crack a smile. “Was anyone with you?” 

“Yeah, I was on a date…”

“Good,” he says. “Because you’re going to want your boyfriend to hold your hand while I put this knee back in place. It’s dislocated, and I’m guessing it’s broken too. You took a pretty nasty fall, Ms. Knope.” 

“He isn't here,” Leslie says, tears streaming down her face. “He called the ambulance and then left.”

Dr. Wyatt studies her for a moment, pen tapping against the metal of her stretcher. 

“He left you? Good Lord.” He rubs his temples, thinking for a moment before speaking again. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you some Dilaudid to help with the pain, then we’re going to bring in some portable x-ray machines just so we know what we’re dealing with. Then, I’m going to put this back in place.” He taps her knee lightly with his pen. 

“Will it hurt?” she asks. The tears are coming down faster now. 

“It’ll probably just feel funny. The Dilaudid will take away most of the pain.” 

Dr. Wyatt leaves the room and then comes back with a small tube, which he tells her is pain medication. He pushes it into her IV, and the effects are almost instant. Leslie feels a bit like she’s floating, and her brain is all fuzzy.

The radiologists come and go, and Dr. Wyatt leaves to take a look at the x-rays. 

Leslie misses him immediately. 

He’s got really nice hair and a flat, flat hiney. Also his hands seem big, and she wouldn't mind them touching…places.

“What are you giggling about?” Dr. Wyatt asks when he comes back, which only makes Leslie laugh harder. She doesn't remember beginning to laugh, but now she can't stop.

“I was thinking about your butt, Mister.” 

“My butt?” He seems amused. “What about it?”

“Benjamin!” a nurse calls from outside the door. “Stop flirting with drugged up patients.” 

“Ooooh, Benjamin’s a nice name! Can I call you Benji?” Leslie’s tugging on his lab coat now, and he pats the top of her hand with his. 

“I prefer Ben.” 

“Okay Benjamin…Ben.” She smiles, and then when he turns around to grab something, she reaches out to grab his butt. It’s just as glorious as she’d expected, all flat and kinda squishy.

“Uh…” Ben says, but he doesn't move. “What are you doing, Lesliemin…Leslie?”

“I think your butt has healing powers. I feel better already.” Leslie squeezes for good measure, and then it hits her that he called her _Lesliemin,_ and she erupts into yet another fit of giggles. 

“You’re silly,” he tells her, eyes bright. “I’m going to put your knee back in place now, okay? I’ll have someone come in to hold your hand. 

“But I want _you_ to hold my hand. Yours are so big and powerful-looking.” 

She reaches out to take one, and to her surprise, Ben lets her. He squeezes reassuringly before releasing it and leaving the room. When he comes back, there’s a nurse with him.

“I’m Phoebe,” she tells Leslie. “This won't hurt, I promise. Dr. Wyatt knows what he’s doing.” 

Leslie nods, and squeezes her eyes shut as Ben smiles at her. His hands are warm on either side of her knee, and his voice is reassuring.

“On three, okay? One…Two…Three.”

There’s a loud clunk, and Leslie’s eyes fly open, but it’s surprisingly not that painful. She feels more relieved than anything.

“Oh boy,” she says in a hushed tone, and Ben laughs.

“Better?” he asks, taking her hand from Phoebe and holding it himself. His fingers rub over her knuckles. 

“Much, much better.” She smiles at him thankfully, and her heart does this weird little skip when he smiles back. 

And it isn't until she gets home later that she sees the phone number written in sharpie on her cast, the words _call me, Lesliemin_ written underneath it in an untidy scrawl. 


	5. This is bad, right?

“Oh, Ann, you look absolutely radiant,” Leslie said, wiping imaginary lint from her best friend’s wedding gown. “You look even more beautiful than Sandra Bullock at the 2010 Oscars.” 

“Thanks Les,” Ann said, turning in front of the mirror so that she could catch another glimpse of the lacy, white fabric that ran down her beautifully bronzed shoulders. Her flawless ethnic blend really did perfectly resemble the dream of the American melting pot. “You look beautiful too.” 

“I look like a bloated whale, Ann.” Leslie ran a hand over her now very pregnant belly and pouted. “And my feet are too swollen for heels, so I’m gonna look extra short walking down the aisle.”

Before Ann could respond, however, there was a curt knock at the door, and Ben peered in, looking just as tired as Leslie felt. If the bags under her eyes were as bad as his, she sure hoped that her makeup artist had the good sense to apply extra foundation there. Their baby was really beating them both up. 

“Everyone’s ready,” Ben said, looking positively dapper in this tux and bowtie despite his obvious exhaustion. Leslie almost handed him a nearby pen to wave around like a sexy orchestra constructor, but then she remembered where she was and resolved to save that for when they got home later. “You almost good to go?” 

“Yeah, I’m all set.” Ann smiled, taking one last deep breath and stepping down from the pedestal in front of the mirror. Leslie’d never seen her so happy, and her heart surged with affection for Chris. He was so lucky to have such a magnificent bride, and she knew without a doubt that he was absolutely perfect for Ann.

Well, no one was good enough for Ann, but Chris was as close as anyone could get, and Leslie was willing to accept it.

“You look beautiful, Ann,” Ben commented, offering both her and Leslie one of his arms as they walked the short distance to the aisle. Once they reached the double doors, Ben handed Ann off to her father, and put his now free hand over one of Leslie’s.

“You look beautiful too,” he told her, this time with more of a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I look like-”

“If it makes you feel any better I feel insanely bloated too,” Ben said, already having heard Leslie rant about her whale-like qualities once or twice before; _maybe_ three times. “And I think you look stunning. The pregnancy boobs really drive the whole look home.” He winked. 

“At least you just _feel_ bloated. You don't look it too,” Leslie grumbled, shifting in her shoes and mentally cursing the universe for making her feet blow up to the size of Texas. “But my boobs do look pretty great, don't they?” 

“Uh huh,” Ben nodded. “They really do.” 

Just then, the wedding march started to play, and Leslie reached around to give her Ann’s hand one final reassuring squeeze before letting Ben lead her down the aisle. 

She held onto her husband’s hand tightly and remembered when it was her in a wedding dress, walking towards him in City Hall. She smiled softly, and looked up at Ben to find that he was already looking down on her too. He squeezed her hand as if to say _I love you,_ and Leslie returned the pressure.

_I love you too, Ben._

And that was when it all happened. A sharp pain shot through Leslie’s stomach, taking her breath away and causing her to stop in the middle of the aisle. Ben too, was wide-eyed and no longer breathing quite so evenly, but he tugged her onward just the same, gulping audibly. 

“Was that-?” he whispered, looking frantic.

“A contraction,” she finished for him. 

“This is bad, right?” Ben gulped, and Leslie could only seem to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the curious looks they were receiving. She was not going to let this baby ruin Ann’s wedding.

“Yes, this is bad, Ben!” she hissed back, breath now coming in shallow pants. 

She was going into labor. 

And suddenly, the thought of pushing something so big out of her lady parts did not sound like fun at all. 

“Oh barnacles.” 


	6. You've never seen Lion King?

Ben didn’t used to think that six was a very significant number. 

But that was before he was a father and before he knew just how fast time could fly by. 

Because _six_.

His children turned six today. 

He felt like he’d barely even had time to savor five, and now everyone had moved on a whole year, and he was still trying to catch up. 

Warm arms snaked around his stomach as he washed the dishes and mulled these things over, trying to somehow embrace his own mortality. Ben’s hands stilled for a moment, soapy and hot under the running water, and he leaned into Leslie’s touch, a soft hum whistling past his teeth. 

“Hey,” he whispered, suddenly realizing just how tired he was in her embrace. He was glad that Stephen, Sonia and Wesley were already asleep in their beds, and as soon as he finished cleaning up, he’d be able to join his wife in theirs. 

Well, he’d be able to join his still very awake wife and sleep while she worked furiously on some scrapbook or another from beside him.

“Hey,” she whispered back, and Ben could practically hear her smile. He recognized her tone of voice immediately; it was her _I just had an amazing idea and I need to share it with you instantly_ voice, and he smirked.

“What’s up, baby smurf?”

“I just thought of something,” she gushed, and Ben awarded himself several mental points for being right. “I think our triple cherries are finally old enough to start watching some of the really good Disney movies like The Lion King and…” 

“The Lion King?” Ben interrupted, his eyebrow furrowing. “Is that the one with the cat named Sombrero or someth-?” 

“SIMBA!” Leslie screeched, causing Ben jolt and promptly drop the plate he was holding. It shattered in the water, sending a splash back up at him, which of course went directly into his eye. “HIS NAME IS SIMBA, AND HE’S NOT A CAT, HE’S A LION! HENCE THE TITLE LION KING!” 

Leslie’s hands were no longer secured around his waist, and when Ben turned around, one palm over his now burning eye, he found her with wide eyes, standing several feet away from him. 

“Uh, sorry, I’ve just never seen that movie before.”

That apparently, was not the right thing to say in his current situation, because before he could even register what was happening, there was a slap on his shoulder that sent a loud clap throughout the entire room.

“You’ve never seen Lion King?” It came out as a low growl. “You mean to tell me… that my own husband has never watched the most incredible movie known to man?”

“I thought the most incredible movie known to man was that Daniel Craig movie we watched the other night? You even said so right aft-”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW, BEN! EVEN THOUGH DANIEL CRAIG IS A FINE PIECE OF MAN!” 

“I- I’m, uh, sorry? I just never got around to it.” 

“That’s it.” She threw her hands up in the air. “We’re watching it right now. C’mon.”

“Les, it’s 11 o’clock at night.” Ben pleaded weakly, even as he allowed her to pull him to the couch. “And we both have work in the morning.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Benjamin. This is the price you have to pay for your sins.” 

And, within a matter of minutes, she inserted the disk (because apparently Leslie could just whip out any Disney movie she wanted on demand), and snuggled down beside him, an excited gleam in her eyes.” 

There was really nothing Ben could do to stop it all from happening, so he just wrapped his arm around her with a sigh. It was hard to be irritated at her when she was so cute. 

And she was super duper cute. 

“Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!!!” Leslie mouthed, perfectly in tune with the tv.

_Good lord._


	7. Spies AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompts: "It's always been you," and "Why haven't you kissed me yet?" 
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

“We’re being watched,” Ben says, pulling Leslie aside by her elbow. She glances around the room, fingers absentmindedly toying with the neckline of her dress as she sips her martini. She’s perfectly calm, stoic even, as she asks _by who_ , and Ben’s struck by how well she always holds herself in these kinds of situations. He’s been a spy for eight years now, and he still gets a tight pit in his stomach whenever anything goes wrong. Sometimes his hands shake, and he feels the familiar bead of sweat making it’s way down his neck, but Leslie never seems afraid. If anything, these moments only seem to energize her, and what she already does so well is somehow enhanced under pressure.

“The man at the table in the corner. Over by the kitchen entrance.” 

Leslie doesn't turn around, but she gives a slight nod. Ben knows that she doesn't need to see exactly what he’s talking about- she knows about the man, and she knew about him from the moment they first walked in. It’s the same way she knew exactly where all the exits were and how many people were sitting at each table. It’s second nature at this point to be fully aware of all of your surroundings. 

Especially on nights like this. When so much is at stake. 

She doesn't ask Ben how he knows that the man’s watching them- she trusts his judgement after six years of working with him. 

She has to. Otherwise they’d never be able to operate so well together. 

“Is he still wearing his coat?” she asks instead. She stirs her drink and makes eye contact with Sergio Capparella, the man they’re actually supposed to be spying on, across the room. He smirks at her, eyes raking over her body, and Leslie smiles back, pretending to be bashful. 

Because she always plays her part so fucking well. 

“Yes,” Ben replies, and he knows exactly what they're both thinking- an overcoat like that is perfect for hiding a gun. Suddenly, Ben’s more aware of the gun attached to his own hip, his fingers practically twitching to remove it already. 

Because he has a feeling he’s going to need it tonight. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Leslie’s fingers brush against the outside of her thigh, likely making sure that her knife is still tucked underneath the silky fabric of her dress. She plays the motion off well, and anyone else would think that she was just scratching her leg, but Ben knows better.

The man in the overcoat says something into his hand before pushing out of the booth and making his way slowly towards them. Ben’s hand tightens over Leslie’s elbow.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He glances to Sergio, who seems to notice no change and is still staring at Leslie like he wants to fuck her. No one else in the room picks up on the shift in the air, but they aren't supposed to. “He’s coming towards us.” 

This time, Leslie does let her gaze fall on the booth in the corner, and her breath hitches when she sees the man working his way through the thickets of people, unmistakably heading straight for them. 

“Pretend like you’re my date,” she says, letting her body fall into Ben’s. He moves his hand around her waist in a practiced move that only comes from having done this so many times before. 

“But, what about Sergio?”

“We’ll figure that out later,” she says. “Right now, my main concern is not getting shot. Again.”

Ben can't help but to chuckle at that. Her dry wit in these situations has always calmed him, and he stands up straighter. Leslie turns into him, playing with the ends of his hair as she smiles. She places a chaste kiss at the base of his neck. 

She really does play her part well. Even Ben is convinced, his heart dipping at the way she’s staring up at him. 

“So, how exactly is this all going to save our asses?” he asks, tilting his head and offering her a loving smile of his own. The difference is that he actually means his- this isn't an act to him, and it never was. 

He’s in love with Leslie Knope. It’s kinda scandalous, really. 

“I haven't really figured out the ‘saving our asses’ part yet,” Leslie confesses. “I was just hoping to throw him a bit. Maybe if we act like we’re a couple rather than, y’know…secret agents, he won't think anything of it. He was just watching us anyways- he didn't actually know what we’re up to.” 

“Ahh,” Ben says, palming Leslie’s hips as she sways in tune with the music playing over the speakers. “I see. So, in that case, why haven't you kissed me yet? This whole thing would be much more convincing if you did.”

The corners of Leslie’s mouth twitch upwards. She stands up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck as she presses her lips to his. The kiss is surprisingly hot and heavy, and before Ben can really even feel it, it’s over. Their kisses always end too fast for his liking, but he’d never compromise a mission by getting too wrapped up in them to focus. 

Ben quickly looks over her shoulder when she pulls away to see Sergio looking dejected that Leslie’s with someone else, but he isn't upset for long because a leggy redhead walks over and puts a hand on his arm. Ben’s gaze shifts to the man in the overcoat, who is now dangerously close. He meets Ben’s eyes as he passes, speaking into his watch and nodding his head as if confining something, and in that short moment, Ben knows that he knows. 

They’ve been found out. 

The man keeps walking until he’s out the door, and Ben and Leslie immediately pull away. He grabs her hand in his, dragging her out into he parking lot. His heart is beating rapidly as he looks among all the cars, searching for a glimpse of the black coat, but it’s dark and difficult to see.

“Shit,” Ben whispers. Leslie’s hand tightens in his and her hair flies out against the wind. 

“You’re sure he knows?” Leslie asks, and Ben nods. 

He takes the gun out of the waist of his pants and hands it over to Leslie. “Take this,” he says. “I’d rather you have it.” 

She doesn't object, knowing that arguing with him will get her nowhere on this one. 

And then there’s a loud shot and a searing pain in the back of Ben’s calf. He stumbles forward, a guttural _fuck_ escaping his lips as Leslie turns around and aims the gun, fingers hot on the trigger. Ben falls to his knees, gripping the back of his leg.

He didn't miss this feeling at all. 

He can see Leslie’s eyes scanning in the dark as he pushes himself back up, limping just slightly, as he pulls them to cover behind a car. He does it just in time, because as soon as he does, a bullet passes through the space Leslie was just standing in. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, but Leslie catches sight of the man, and her hips twist as she turns, gun held out in front of her. She pulls the trigger, and there’s the familiar thud of a body hitting concrete, surely dead. 

She lets out a sigh and smooths out the front of her dress before turning back to face Ben. He’s slumped against the car, the side mirror digging painfully into his arm. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

“I’ve been better, honestly.” It’s a cheap joke, but it makes Leslie smile.

Leslie bends down, taking a look at the bullet wound, and her nose scrunches at the sight. She removes his jacket from his shoulders and rips the bottom part of it off, using the strip of material to tie around Ben’s leg, stopping the blood flow.

“I’ll call Swanson,” she says. “He can send some medics over.” 

“Thanks,” Ben chokes out, offering her a smirk. The pain is searing, but it isn't as bad as it was the first time he was shot- he’s gotten used to it. 

Which is just about the most fucked up thing ever. 

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Leslie’s crouched down next to him, looking concerned. He isn't sure why he says it, but he suspects that his woozy state might have something to do with it.

“It would help if you kissed me again,” Ben says. “You know, to distract me from the pain.” 

Leslie laughs. “Oh yeah?” 

“Mhmm. Plus, I kinda like ya, and I pretty much always want to kiss you.” 

He gulps, suddenly wishing he could take the words back. Fuck his stupid, pain-addled brain. 

“Yeah, I had a feeling that we were going to need to find different partners at some point,” Leslie says with a sigh, as if this is more annoying than anything. “Because I always want to kiss you too. I hate flirting with so many other guys in front of you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It’s you I really want. It’s always been you.” 

She smiles, and Ben’s heart lifts at how her honesty translates into every aspect of her life. People as honest as her shouldn't be allowed to exist.

She reaches down and presses her lips to his again, though softer this time. 

“But before we get into any of that,” Leslie says as she pulls away. “I think we should consider calling an ambulance. You look absolutely terrible.” 

Ben’s head falls back against the car. “That’s funny, because I feel pretty fantastic.” 

And how could he not?

He just kissed Leslie Knope. 

It doesn't get more fantastic than this. 


	8. I've wanted this for so long

The hardest part was that she never stopped loving him. 

She moved on and grew and changed, but that feeling…that burning deep within her chest at each mention of his name never really went away. Butterflies still swirled in her stomach when she flipped through the yearbook and saw his face there- a mess of brown hair and askew glasses and deep eyes that seemed to never end. 

He was all crooked smiles and erratic heartbeats, and her own heart threw itself against her ribcage as she thought about him. Just like it always did, even after all this time. 

She closed her eyes, hand on the doorknob as she recalled senior prom, graduation, after grad, the summers she spent lying in his lap counting stars. She could so clearly see his eyes twinkling just as softly and brightly as the moon that loomed overhead, and she remembered thinking she should just say it.

She should just tell him she loved him because life was too short and her heart lived in her fingertips and her toes whenever he was around.

But she could not choke those fatal words into sound. They wrapped around her tongue like heavy bricks and refused to pass her lips in fear that they alone would ruin everything. 

So, she’d just looked up at him as he pointed out a shooting star and smiled. Because someway, somehow, he was hers. Even if it wasn't the way she wanted him to be. 

She pushed the door open, and Ben looked up from the mounds of paperwork surrounding him. At the sight of her, his eyes immediately brightened, and he pushed up off the chair, smoothing a hand down his suit jacket. 

“Hey you,” he said in that easy way of his, coming around the desk to wrap her into his arms. “It’s been a while. I thought you’d never come visit me again.” 

Leslie laughed and breathed in the familiar scent of him- a mixture of cinnamon and scotch, as she returned the hug. 

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said when he pulled away and held her at arms length. “How could I ever stop visiting you?” 

His smile was easy- a full blown smile that he never offered to anyone except for her. Leslie’s breath hitched. 

“Well, my lunch break isn't technically for another hour, but I can bend the rules for you. Wanna grab burgers at the diner down the street? And on our way back we can grab some of those waffle sundaes you like.” 

He was already pulling his coat on, but Leslie stopped him. “Yeah, of course I wanna do that, but I actually came to talk business.” 

“Oh, I see,” he teased, poking a finger into her side. Leslie swatted him away with a smile. “You just needed something from me.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Is this all our friendship means to you?” he sat back down and Leslie followed suit, taking one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

She found as she looked at him that she missed his glasses. When they were in high school, he used to wear them all the time, but now that he was managing important campaigns, he’d made the switch to contact lenses. 

But, his jaw was no less sharp and his butt no less flat. So, she found it hard to linger too much on that small detail. 

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I just keep you around for my own personal gain. You’re easy to convince when it comes to my crazy ideas.” 

There it was again- that smile. That stupid, stupid smile that made her heart trip right over itself. 

“You know I am,” he said. “I’d do anything for you, Ms. Knope.” 

“Even manage my campaign?” Leslie’s fingers were twisting nervously in her lap. It was a big favor, she knew, but she wouldn't trust anyone else with the job- not even Jen Barkley who was one of the best political consultants in all of D.C. 

“M-Manage your campaign? Leslie are you serious?” 

She looked into her lap, suddenly embarrassed for some reason, but then his hand was under her chin, pulling her head back up. 

“You’re going to run for president?” he asked. Leslie bit her lip and nodded, his fingers still warm against her skin. 

“Yes,” she whispered. She squared her shoulders back and stared defiantly into his eyes, his fingers alone enough to bring her courage back. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Well,” he said after the longest stretch of silence she’d ever had to endure. “You certainly have my vote, Madam President. Let me just call Senator Newman and tell him I won't be running his campaign after all, and then we can get to work.” 

The smile never left his face as he picked up the phone and secured it between his shoulder and cheek. 

And the smile never left hers either.

Because Ben Wyatt was going to run her presidential campaign. 


	9. I thought you didn't want me

Ben Wyatt kissed a million girls just trying to forget about her. 

But no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the feeling of Leslie’s lips pressed against his, he could not forget the way his lungs had filled with stardust when her hands threaded into his hair, and he could not un-see the oceans in her eyes. 

He would never forget that night. They’d climbed over the fence lining Hawks Landing golf course and laid down in the grass at the ninth hole, holding hands and looking to the sky. And then, next thing he knew, Leslie’s leg was thrown over his, and her hands were tracing patterns into his back, his stomach, his sides as they talked about anything and nothing. 

It was as if electricity had poured from her fingertips, igniting him and sparking understandings beneath his skin.

He’d realized that he was in love with her, and he would never stop. His heart just didn’t know how. 

So, in a moment of bravery, he’d put each of his hands under her jaw and angled her mouth towards him, pressing his lips, featherlight, against hers. For just a moment, he was so sure that she returned the pressure, but before he could know for certain, she pulled away, a blush creeping across her nose and cheeks.

“I have to go,” she’d whispered, and then she was scrambling upward and running away from him before he could ask what was wrong, before he could say he was sorry. 

Ben tapped on the steering wheel angrily as he recalled the memory. 

He’d misread the signs. He thought she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her, but now he knew that wasn't true. She was his forever, and he’d been her ‘for now’. 

And that was okay. He couldn't love someone into loving him back, no matter how hard he tried, and it wasn't like he had to see her anymore. He didn't have to constantly be reminded of it when he passed her in the hallways at school or when they sat in student council meetings together. 

In a lot of ways, going to college was doing wonders for Ben.

But now that he was back in Pawnee, the memories were all being drugged up. He looked over to the golf course as he drove by, feeling the familiar twist of his heart.

And that was why he didn't see the stop sign or the car coming straight at him in the other direction. 

***

The fluorescent hospital lights danced behind Ben’s eyelids as he slowly slipped back into consciousness. His head was pounding, and he felt groggy.

There was a sharp pain in his arm and he twisted, trying to find the source, but a voice stopped him.

“No, no,” it said, “Don't do that! You’ll rip out the IV.”

IV? Ben peeled back his eyelids and was met with the sight of wires coming out of his arm and a thick, white cast on his leg. Then he looked up, and almost choked on air when he saw none other than Leslie Knope standing over him.

“L-Leslie? What’s going on?” he asked. Everything was so white and bright, and he had the sudden sickening thought that he was dead. “Are we in Heaven?” 

“What? No. We’re in the hospital, Ben!” She sounded almost frantic, her thumbnail in her mouth like it always was when she was overly anxious. “You ran through a stop sign and I didn't see you in time, so I ran into your car! I’m so sorry!” 

But before Ben could respond to this, he drifted back out of consciousness. 

He came to again a few hours later, feeling just as groggy as he had before, but his headache was gone. 

“Oh thank God!” he heard, and then his eyes flew open as lips pressed against his.

“Mmmph!” he said in shock, and Leslie pulled away, eyes wide. “What was that for?” 

“I thought I killed you again! I told you about the car accident and then you passed out, and, oh god, I was so worried! You woke up and you were talking about Heaven, and I thought you had brain damage or something! And it was all my fault!”

“You…you kissed me,” was all Ben could say, and she nodded slowly. “But I thought…I thought you didn't want me.” 

“What?”

“That night,” he said, trying to ignore the shooting pain that was now making its way up his leg. “At the golf course. I kissed you and then you left, and I thought…”

Leslie suddenly turned very pink. “I was scared,” she confessed. “But I don't regret anything more than leaving that night. I should’ve stayed, I should’ve…”

But Ben interrupted her by pushing up on one arm and using the other to bring her to him, crashing his mouth over hers. 

Because that was all he needed. Just that confession that she felt it too. 

Nothing had ever felt so good in all of his life. 

He pulled away, studying her face, and Leslie smiled softly. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you with my car,” she whispered.

“I’m not.” 

And he really wasn’t.


	10. The One Night Stand

Ben’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Leslie wakes up, buttoning his shirt and trying to tame his bedhead. Hair is sticking up stubbornly in every which direction, and finally, Ben gives up on trying to smooth it down. Leslie’s almost glad that he does; she likes it this way, all wild and crazy. In a way, it suits him, and she can't imagine it gelled back.

She stirs, half expecting a wave of nausea to come over her when she does, but then she remembers that she only had one cosmopolitan last night and nothing else. She’s used to being hungover the morning after a one night stand, but with Ben, it was different. 

She’d been completely sober the entire time, and she remembers everything perfectly. 

Ben turns around as she sits up, bringing the sheets  over her chest as if he hadn't done…well, unspeakable things to her tits just last night. He smiles at her, his eyes lighting up.

“Good morning,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not. I have to leave pretty soon because my flight is in a few hours, but I ordered you room service. They’ll bring up some waffles and whipped cream.” 

He ordered her room service. Who was this guy?

“Oh,” she says. “Thank you. That was really nice.” 

Leslie smooths her hand over her own hair, suddenly unsure of what to say. It dawns on her that she had a really great time with Ben last night - and not even just during the sexy part of the evening, so she wishes he could stay. She wishes that he was at least living nearby and not all the way in Washington D.C. because then she could maybe see him again.

“You’re welcome.” Ben crawls up the bed and slots his lips over hers. His hand comes over to the back of her neck, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. He tastes fresh, like spearmint, and Leslie wishes she had time to brush her teeth too, but Ben doesn't seem to mind her morning breath.

“I wish I could stay,” he says when he pulls back. “But I wrote my number on a post-it note.” He points to a yellow piece of paper on the bedside table. “So if you’re ever in D.C., please give me a call, and I can give you a tour of the sights or something.” 

“I’d really like that,” Leslie says, still feeling out of breath from the kiss. Her hands frame his face and he kisses the space where her wrists meet her palms sweetly. “I don't want you to go.” 

“Me neither.” He kisses the tip of her nose and her cheeks, and then he’s trailing his lips down her neck. “But I have to,” he whispers into her skin.

“Okay,” Leslie says, unable to pay attention to anything other than his mouth on her. But then he’s pulling away and slipping his shoes on, looking back at her sadly. 

“Goodbye Leslie Knope,” he says at the door, and then he lets it fall behind him. Just like that.

“Goodbye Ben Wyatt,” she whispers to an empty room.

***

Leslie hasn't thrown up since she was in the ninth grade, so the minute she finds herself hunched over the toilet, she knows something’s up. She groans, using the back of her hand to wipe her mouth before standing to wash up and brush her teeth.

She thinks for a moment that it could be the flu everyone else has, but she doesn't quite believe it. The memory of the night she had with Ben a few weeks ago immediately forces itself into her mind’s eye, and Leslie groans. She’s five days late.

So, she really hopes she has the flu. To say the very least.

She grew up with a single mother, and she knows how hard that can be. Of course, she’d love her child no matter what, but she’s always envisioned this happening differently. She’s always thought that when this happened (if she really is pregnant), it would be on purpose. It would be because she was married and in love and wanted to create something wonderful with another person.

Leslie digs around beneath her sink for the box of pregnancy tests Ann had brought over last month when she was scared that Chris knocked her up. Luckily for Ann though, the results came back negative.

But before Leslie even hovers over the toilet, stick in hand, she knows that she won't be so fortunate. She can just feel it. 

So, she just sighs when she finally turns the stick over and reads that dreaded word.

_Positive._

She’s gonna have to get a plane ticket.

***

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Leslie says into the phone. “This is Leslie Knope. We met at the budgeting conferences in Indy a few weeks ago?”

She tugs her lip between her teeth, pulling her suitcase behind her as she navigates through the busy airport. She’d just landed in D.C. a few minutes ago.

“Oh…hey,” he says. “H-How are you?”

“Is this a bad time?” she asks. Part of her hopes it is, and she can just forget all of this and go back home. But she knows that isn't an option.

“No! Not at all. I was just surprised to hear from you.” 

“Well, I just landed in D.C., and I was wondering if you could give me that tour you promised?” She winces. Even to herself she sounds nervous. “If not I totally understand, and I - ”

“Are you still at the airport?” Ben interrupts. “I’ll come pick you up.” 

He tells her where to meet him, and Leslie walks over there, thankful for the few moments she has to compose herself. She can practically hear Ann’s voice in her ear telling her to breathe. So she does. She inhales and exhales like it’s her job, and twenty minutes later, a green Saturn pulls up in front of her and Ben climbs out. 

“Hi,” he says, taking her suitcase from her and planting a kiss on her cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I’m pregnant!!” Leslie blurts out, and Ben promptly drops all of her things, proceeding to nearly trip right over them.

Fudge. Fudge on a cracker! She had this whole thing planned out, and she just ruined it all.

“Pregnant?!” 

“Yes.” Leslie squares her shoulders. “Pregnant. And it’s yours.” 

Ben runs a hand through his hair, looking almost deathly pale.

“Oh. Okay, well…we will, we’ll figure this out. Yes. Okay. I- we…” He sighs, regaining composure. “Have you decided what you’re gonna do?” 

“I- I think I wanna keep it.” 

“Okay,” Ben says stepping over her suitcase to take her hands in his. “Me too, I think. I mean, I haven't had much time to process this, but…” 

“We’ll figure it all out,” Leslie repeats, and Ben nods his head.

“Yes. We’ll make this work,” he says, and right then and there, Leslie believes those words with every inch of her soul.

She just knows that everything will be okay.

Because with Ben Wyatt by her side, how could it not be?


	11. Fake Relationship

It’s been an hour. 

Sam was supposed to be here at 6:30, and now it’s 7:36, and Leslie’s on her fourth Shirley Temple, holding onto hope that he’ll come. Each time the waitress walks by, she shoots Leslie a pained expression, something between pity and annoyance for the girl who just won't accept that she’s been stood up. But Leslie won't leave, no sir. Sam is coming. He has to.

“Sweetie,” the waitress says on her next time around. People are craning their necks now, all looking to see what’s happening. Leslie’s cheeks burn red. 

“You’ve been stood up,” she continues in that condescending tone of hers. Leslie’s pretty sure she hears the woman in the table next to her snicker behind her menu. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to make room for the next customers, so if you’ll just…”

“Sorry!” someone says from behind her. “Sorry I’m late, honey. Traffic jam.”

A man — definitely not Sam — slides into the booth across from Leslie and smiles at her reassuringly. 

“I’ll have an iced tea please. Unsweetened,” he says, and the waitress, flabbergasted, stutters for a moment before writing his order in her notebook and scurrying off. It’s only then that Leslie really gets the chance to study the man. He’s got tall, thick hair that doesn't follow any rules of physics, equally brown eyes and tiny lips. His nose is a bit big and maybe even a little crooked, but somehow it suits him, and Leslie’s sure that she’s never seen his face before in her life.

“Uh….Do I know you?” she asks. Her hand closes around the keychain in her pocket, ready to whip out some pepper spray at any given moment.

“Sorry, I’m Ben Wyatt,” he says. He rubs at the back of his neck somewhat awkwardly. “I uh, I couldn't help but notice that you’ve been stood up, and everyone was laughing at you when the waitress came over, so I…well, I wanted to help. So, I figured that if I…If I pretended to be your date, no one would think anything of it.”

“O-oh?” Leslie’s hand loosens around the pepper spray, but she’s still weary. Ann would tell her that it isn't smart to trust taut, narrow men who sit across from you in restaurants, but Leslie can't shake the feeling that he seems sincere.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Look, if you want me to go…” He gestures towards the doorway. “I just wanted to help.” 

Leslie considers him for a moment, sipping her Shirley Temple. 

“Well, I guess you could stay until Sam gets here,” she says, and Ben looks at her curiously, eyebrow raised like he’s about to say something, but then he seems to think better of it. Leslie knows he doesn't have the heart to tell her Sam’s not coming. She knows that he isn’t, but god, does she want him to. Being stood up sucks. 

“Okay, so when Sam gets here, I’ll leave?” he humors her, and Leslie’s grateful for it.

“Yes, but you can keep me company until then,” Leslie says. The waitress comes back with Ben’s iced tea, and they tell her they need a few more minutes with the menu before she leaves again. Ben somehow manages to call her _honey_ during the transaction. 

It weirdly feels normal. 

“So, you never told me your name?” Ben sips on his drink, eyes never leaving hers. 

“Leslie,” she says. “Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of Pawnee’s Parks and Recreation Department.” 

“Well, Leslie Knope, Deputy Director of Pawnee’s Parks and Recreation Department, your name is quite a tongue-twister, but it is a pleasure to have your acquaintance.” 

Ben smiles — no, smirks — at her, and Leslie feels her cheeks flame once more. 

“So,” he says. “What kind of things, as your date, should I know about you?” 

Leslie swallows. Does this still count as a first date, even though it’s someone different than she expected? Because it certainly feels like a first date, and she’s never been known to preform very well on those.

“Oh…well, I like parks, political biographies, Hillary Clinton…” she trails off, fumbling for words, but like he’s been doing all evening, Ben catches her. 

“How about we play 21 questions? Nothing weird, just a genuine, getting-to-know each other game?” 

Leslie nods, thankful for the interlude because if Ben had let her keep going, she would’ve probably started ranting about Raccoons. Or Eagleton. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?” 

“Orange.” 

“Orange, really?” His eyebrow raises. “Mine’s blue, but that’s not nearly as interesting or unique as yours. I’m jealous.” 

“You should be, good sir! What’s your favorite movie?” 

“Blade Runner. You?”

“When Harry Met Sally,” Leslie confesses. “But that’s only because it’s the last movie I actually saw, and I can never pick just one favorite.” 

“Hey, it’s a good flick!” Ben says, and their conversation continues like this for another ten minutes. Then, somehow it turns into a discussion about politics and aspirations, and after that books, TV, hobbies and so on.There’s never a dull moment, and it isn't until Ben says that he hopes he’s an okay fill-in for Sam, that Leslie even remembers why they’re talking in the first place.

Sam who?” she asks at first, confused, but then she remembers. “Oh! _Sam._ Yeah, I think you make a pretty good stand-in. It wasn't like I’d ever even met him in person anyway. I just knew what he looked like from his online profile.”

She blushes yet again at her admission, but Ben just sips his iced tea, seemingly unfazed. 

“Well, in any case, he’s a real idiot for not showing up. That’s a dick move,” Ben says. “But I can't say that I mind all that much, because if he _had_ come, I’d be missing out on this pretty cool date.”

“I’m glad he didn't come either,” Leslie whispers. She thinks the redness in her cheeks might just as well be permanent at this point. 

Just then the waitress comes back over, notebook in hand as Ben reaches over to intertwine his fingers with Leslie’s across the table. 

“You ready to order?” she asks, sounding bored. Leslie gets herself a lasagna, saddened by the fact that this place doesn't have waffles and whipped cream, or any breakfast foods at all.

“And for you sir?” The waitress turns to Ben, and he looks over at Leslie, winking.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”


	12. Going Away to War

He looks sharp in his uniform. 

Leslie runs a hand down the green jacket, smoothing out the lapels and tucking his dog-tags beneath his shirt. She’s trembling enough for the both of them, and it doesn't surprise her anymore that Ben isn't shaking too- he never does, and they’ve been through this countless times already.

“Do you really have to go?” Her voice quivers, and Ben immediately wraps his arms around her, nose pressing into the base of her neck.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could just stay here with you forever,” he says. He puts a hand to her tummy. “You and our little baby.” 

Leslie swats him away. “Don’t you make me cry, Major Wyatt,” she teases, even as tears pour down her cheeks. Ben wipes them away, fingers calloused and hard against her skin. Leslie leans into his touch, savoring this small moment and wishing she could stretch it into an entire lifetime.

“But you only just came home. And now you have to leave again.” 

She closes her eyes, thinking of what he will have to go through again. The last time he was gone, just a few, short weeks ago, he’d jumped off a plane and landed in Normandy, where she knows terrible things happened. Ben never says what, and she never asks; she doesn't want to know. 

What he’s told her already is enough. She knows what he has to carry.

“I’m sorry, babydoll.” He peppers kisses into her skin, whispers promises into her ear and holds her hand like it’s his lifeline.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I hate leaving you. I hate leaving when I know something even better is coming.” His hand comes to rest on her stomach again, and Leslie puts hers on top of it. 

“You better come home for us…” 

She thinks of how every time the doorbell rings when he’s gone, her heart leaps into her throat, and tears brim her eyes before she realizes it’s just her mother or the mailman and not two soldiers with a dreaded telegram. 

“I will, Leslie Knope. I’m not dying that easy.” 

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips into his and bringing her arms around his neck. “I love you so very much.”

And just like that, they say goodbye again. 

It never gets any easier. 


	13. Divorce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from the prompt for a divorce AU. I didn't really know what to do with it, so I hope it's at least a tiny bit believable!!

“Maybe we should get a divorce.” 

The words slip out of Leslie’s mouth before she can stop them, and they slice through the air like bullets. Ben, who was fighting angrily seconds before, just looks stunned now, maybe even a little hurt. 

“I mean it,” she continues. “We haven't been happy in a long time. All we do is fight, and I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me.”

Leslie looks up at him, and the weight of what she’s saying crashes down on her. 

“But I _do_ love you,” Ben says. He steps closer and takes her hand. “I love you so much. I’m sorry.” 

“Are you happy?” Leslie feels like she should be crying, but the tears don't come - not yet anyways. “Do I make you happy anymore?” 

Ben doesn't say anything, but his lack of response _is_ a response. He bows his head and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I don't think I’ve been a very good husband.”

“I haven't been a very good wife…”

Ben takes her face in his hands, the same way he did all those years ago when he kissed her for the first time. Leslie squeezes her eyes shut, wishing she could turn back time. 

Things used to be easy. 

“You’ve been a very good wife. Things went down hill when I…when Annette…”

“But you wouldn't have kissed Annette if I was around more,” Leslie says, the tears finally coming. “If I didn't work so much…”

“It doesn't excuse what I did.” 

Leslie remembers walking home that night, only to see Ben and Annette kissing in the doorway almost like he wanted her to see. He’d apologized so many times now, but Leslie couldn't let it go. She couldn't get the image of them out of her mind. 

“Maybe if we got married a few years later than we did…Maybe we were just young and foolish,” Leslie says, her voice becoming more and more garbled. “We both wanted different things and asked too much of each other…”

“I’m sorry,” Ben sobs. “This is my fault. You deserve better- so much better than me.” 

Leslie reaches up to wipe his cheeks and smooth a hand through his hair.

“It just wasn't meant to be,” she whispers.

But it doesn't stop her from wondering what could have been. 


End file.
